It Takes a Village
by Blazichu
Summary: They say that "it takes a village to raise a child", and that was exactly the kind of environment Trucy Wright grew up in. Just as well, really, for an aspiring magician with a complicated family history.  -Occasional PxE-
1. Pomp and Circumstance

Okay, this is probably a bad idea, but my current project includes so many little throwaway lines that I want to follow up on, that I just had to make this compilation. I have no idea if the small-novel-of-a-fic is even going to see the light of cyber-day or not, but I'm excited nonetheless.

Anyway, this is going to display rather blatant (as it's a previously established and (depending on the setting, time-wise) long-term relationship) **PxE**... but I doubt it'll ever be anything particularly serious. Other warnings... probably **spoilers** for the games through _Apollo Justice, _(AAI's safe, since I haven't even spoiled that game for _myself_, yet) and **excess amounts of Larry**. I have no idea why (and I'm positive that this is going to sound suspicious) but I have a soft spot for the Butz.

This is more of an introductory piece, than anything else, but the fluff still made me smile while writing it. I hope it works that way for the reader, too. ;)

* * *

When it came to graduation, like so many other school-related activities, Trucy had no trouble spotting her father.

It wasn't the fact that, as usual, he'd found a spot next to Miles—garbed, predictably as ever, in magenta—or that Maya and Pearl stuck out like sore thumbs, in all of their abnormal glory… it was the fact that he was wearing that same old hat.

Throughout most of her school life, Trucy had only to look for a spot of bright blue in a crowd, and she'd know where to find her daddy. This had been especially reassuring during those first few talent shows, and the inescapable school plays from elementary school, when it was nice to know that _someone_ wasn't going to judge her based solely on her performance on stage. She'd made that hat all on her own, some time after the trial that had brought them together, and Phoenix had been sure to keep it from being neglected. Sure, he couldn't wear it during trials where he _wasn't_ the defendant—it was kind of scary how often he seemed to be accused of wrongdoing, actually—but Trucy could hardly blame him for not wearing the cap to work; she'd already had a hand in costing him his attorney's badge, once, after all, and she wanted nothing to do with anything that might lose it, again. Besides, now that she'd gotten through high school, it was pretty obvious that—as carefully as she'd made the hat, all those years ago—it didn't look very professional… in fact, it was a little garish, with the pink lettering, and her father's own addition of that silly pin-slash-camera from Ema. Trucy could see why Apollo thought it looked stupid, actually.

But that didn't change the fact that Phoenix had always worn it.

Though her father didn't always have the greatest fashion sense, the magician was sure that even _he_ recognized the…effect it had. It had certainly come with quite a few snide remarks from her 'uncles' when they first saw it, in any case… not that Larry had much room to talk, with that funny beret he'd insisted on wearing back then… and Miles's fondness for 'not-pink' was a little suspicious, too. If the atmosphere hadn't been so formal, Trucy would have scowled (belatedly) on Phoenix's behalf—they had no right to make fun of her daddy like that!

Although, she amended, it could be really funny to listen to Phoenix and Miles argue, sometimes… like in that court case, last week, when some witness had gone off on a tangent about peanut butter, right on the stand. From where she'd been sitting in the gallery, it had taken everything Trucy had not to burst out laughing—every 'Objection!' had seemed to grow more and more desperate for some shred of logic, as the testimony got further out of hand. It was surprising that nobody else—particularly the judge (or maybe not. It was hard to tell with that guy.)—had noticed that every argument made, after a certain point, was practically screaming 'I think we're the only sane people in here!'.

…It was nice to know that, even if she toured around and reinvented Troupe Gramarye after all of this, there would be someone to keep her father company… and to keep him in check. Phoenix could be a little strange sometimes—Trucy was fully aware of that—but she also knew (and had known for a very long time) that he was a good man, with a keen mind and a strong sense of justice.

Quite suddenly, she felt tears welling up in her eyes, and tried to brush them away as subtly as possible. Thinking about the future—away from the home she'd known for a great portion of her life—was frightening, and she didn't _like_ dwelling on such thoughts, but it had to be done. She was going to revolutionize the entertainment field, after all, and that wasn't going to happen by itself. Sure, there had been gracious offers from old friends of her father's—the most notable being from 'Mister Max' from the _Berry __**Berry**__ Big Circus_—but this was something Trucy had to do on her own.

With newly dried eyes, she looked out over the crowd again, quickly spotting the speck of blue she'd been seeking, and smiled, knowing what her dad would say—and had _said_—to that: just because she had to do something on her own didn't mean that she would have to be by herself.

It was funny, really, how such a clumsily made token could become associated with feelings of safety, comfort, and—ultimately—family, long after it had become recognized as childish. As she tossed her own cap into the air, alongside her peers, Trucy vowed that it was time to give that old hat a rest.


	2. What are Friends for?

Since the first chapter was so short (not that this one's much longer), I felt compelled to include a second right off the bat, too. It certainly doesn't have to do with my giddiness at the thought of adding it to the collection. Nope.

On a different note, I have no doubts that Larry had something to do with Phoenix's career choice, as of AJ.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

Somehow, that simple sentence was difficult to believe, as it was being aimed at one Larry Butz.

"Larry, _why in the world_ would you offer my services as a _pianist_? I don't even know how to play the piano!" Phoenix ran his free hand through his hair—the other was holding Trucy securely in place as she dozed, head pillowed on her arms, on his lap—and stared at his friend in a way that suggested he wouldn't believe it if he hadn't known the other man so well, "And I can't leave Trucy alone—she's only seven years old!"

"Ya just gotta take what you can get sometimes, Nick. Why did you think I worked at that salon for a month?" The former attorney winced at the reminder—that particular job, about a year previously, had led to another lawsuit for the Butz… and it didn't take a vivid imagination to work out who had defended the brunet, once again. "And Truce? Why do you think _I'm _here, buddy?"

Phoenix was on the verge of saying that that was exactly what he _didn't_ want to happen when the last conscious party finally spoke up.

"And that is _precisely_ why _I'm_ here." Miles sounded exasperated, which was supported by the fact that he was still leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded over his chest— his right hand resting lightly against the left arm, but not clutching at it—and giving Larry a very pointed look. "We can't have you _corrupting_ the poor girl; just look at what happened the _last _time we left her alone with you…"

At the reminder, Phoenix dragged his hand down over his face. To be honest, he wasn't _entirely_ sure what Larry had said to Trucy the _one_ time he'd babysat, but it had obviously had to do with relationships—one very specific relationship, to be exact. The seven-year-old's sudden interest in her daddy 'finding a new mommy' coupled with the knowing look in her eyes—one which made it very difficult to believe she was only in elementary school—was very disconcerting. It was one thing to have _Pearls_ around, having a version of the young medium who actually got things _right_ was another matter entirely.

Removing his hand from his face, the former lawyer glanced between his two oldest friends, and then back to Trucy. For all of his good intentions, Larry was definitely out—if he spent any more time alone with the little magician, it was likely that her hinting would get even worse. That, of course, left Edgeworth. It was more for the prosecutor's sake that Phoenix was reluctant to leave him alone with Trucy—the girl was as sweet as could be, but also very energetic and… less than subtle; in ways, her behavior was reminiscent of Maya and Ema, and he _knew_ how those two could get on Miles' nerves… Mentally, he ran through a list of people who would be willing to keep an eye on the little girl… the first three that came to mind Maya and Ema, as he'd already considered, and Franziska… No, no and _definitely_ no, if he wanted his sanity to stay intact… (_Why do I have friends like this? _He mentally asked himself.) There was, of course, another—albeit temporary—option…

"Okay, Larry," He started, surprising the others, who obviously thought that he was accepting the youngest's offer, "_Where_ did you say this was?"

Brightening, Larry waved his hand in an almost dismissive manner, his orange jacket—which he'd begun wearing again, after 'taking a break' from his artistry—flopping over the hand in question as he did so, "It's this great little place downtown—the bush…no, boar? Oh well, the Something-That-Starts-With-a-B Bowl Club. It's a few blocks down from the Wonder Bar, actually… I'm kind of surprised I didn't notice it until last week…"

"Uh huh…" Suppressing the urge to sigh at his friend's vague instructions, Phoenix went ahead and asked the next question he'd had lined up, "And when did you tell them I'd be there?"

Larry glanced up at the ceiling momentarily, as if the answer was written above him, before glancing at the clock and tilting his head to the side, "About an hour, I think."

This time, the former defense attorney _did_ sigh. "I'd better get going, then."

This earned nothing but a questioning glance from Miles—which, admittedly, was to be expected—and a bewildered "Huh?" from Larry, who, it seemed, didn't really expect to be taken seriously… at least not this easily.

"I get to watch Truce, then?" The brunet asked excitedly, hands clenched in excitement just under his collarbone.

"No way, Larry. Sorry." He certainly hoped that he sounded the part… but the amused look Miles gave him suggested that he really didn't, "I'm taking her with me." (There was a melodramatic "Awww, Nick, that's no fair!" at this, which was pointedly ignored.) Phoenix began to shift the girl's weight back onto the couch—where she'd started out, before leaning further and further onto her father— and was about to gently wake her before being interrupted.

"Let her sleep." Miles said, having moved further into the room while Phoenix wasn't watching. He didn't look particularly put out, after having his offer refused… somehow, that wasn't too surprising, though, "I'll give you a ride so you won't have to catch the bus. That way you'll actually have time to get ready."

Phoenix smiled warmly, reaching behind his head with one hand while the other rested on his hip—it was a familiar gesture, he distantly realized, that he hadn't used since being disbarred, "Thanks, Miles."

The fatal error here was realizing that the Butz was still present. This time the "Aww" wasn't disappointed in the slightest—in fact, the youngest of the three looked like they'd just made up for dashing his earlier hopes. In return, he received two unimpressed stares.

"If this works out…" Phoenix muttered to the prosecutor, rolling his eyes, "_You're_ taking care of Trucy when I can't."

What _was_ a surprise was the fact that this actually inspired a slight smile from Edgeworth, who replied just as quietly, "I was hoping you'd say that."

* * *

"How'd it go?" Larry asked excitedly, the moment Phoenix and Trucy walked back through the door. It appeared that, in the several hours they'd been gone, he hadn't left the 'Talent Agency'. Miles reentered the room a moment later, after locking his car behind them.

"Uh…okay," The former defense attorney answered evasively, gaze locked on Charley in the corner of the room.

"'Okay'?" The Butz parroted, cocking his head to the side.

"Oh, they want to hire him." Edgeworth cut in, coming dangerously close to grinning at the dark haired man's expense, "Care to tell him why, Wright?"

Phoenix scowled at the other, obviously having no intention of enlightening Larry… fortunately for the part-time artist, Trucy didn't have any such reserves.

"They want Daddy to play poker for them!" The little magician announced proudly, "He was really bad at the piano, but I helped him out a little and he was _really_ good at playing cards!"

Larry snorted, half in amusement, half in disbelief, "_Nick_? A _poker player_? How'd you manage that one, dude?"

"It's not that different from court…" Phoenix protested weakly, "You just need to learn how to tell when somebody's bluffing…"

The orange-garbed man simply nodded his head, though it was quite obvious that he didn't understand what exactly the connection was, and glanced at his dark haired friend, bemused, "Isn't gambling illegal, though?"

"It's just a game—nobody bets anything."

Trucy bobbed her head as her father answered, before chiming in, "Yeah, and _I_ bet that he won't even need me help, soon!"

Larry started laughing loudly at this, and it even inspired a short chuckle from Miles. Phoenix, on the other hand, looked up at the ceiling, and ran a hand down his face, asking the universe at large why it loved to see him humiliated.

"In other words…" The Butz managed, in between his guffaws, "You cheated? Man Nick, you're making it really easy to believe that forging charge…"

The dark haired man frowned at the claim—it was still a sore subject for him—before covering it up for Trucy's sake. As per usual, he didn't manage that before someone noticed—unsurprisingly, it had been Edgeworth, if the prosecutor's expression was anything to go by.

"I didn't know she was going to do that…" Phoenix defended without much enthusiasm, before turning his gaze to his daughter, "I didn't even know you _could_ do that, Trucy."

The girl in question threw her arms out in a grand gesture, grinning widely, before tackling her father in a hug. "It's _easy_, Daddy! You'll be able to learn no problemo!"

"Maybe I will," The dark haired man mused playfully, lifting her higher up and swinging her in a gentle arc before setting her safely back on the ground. As he spoke next, he teasingly poked the little magician's nose, "But _you'll_ be hanging out with your Uncle Miles."

The man in question smiled slightly, going unnoticed for the time being; he could live with that. He honestly _did_ want to get to know Wright's adopted daughter better… but there was, of course, one slight hitch in the plan, that he hoped the 'pianist' remembered.

"And Uncle Larry when Uncle Miles has a case, right?" Trucy asked excitedly, which, in turn, reactivated the Butz.

"Yeah! Right Nick?"

Phoenix groaned. When they put it like that, there was really no way he could refuse…

"Right…"


	3. Her Daddy's Daughter

Only one comment for this one: "Her daddy's daughter"...

* * *

Trucy spent a lot of time at the prosecutors' office.

One might find it strange that an aspiring magician would loiter around a law firm, but it was a solid fact that she did. This was mostly due to the fact that her father wouldn't let her come to the Borscht Bowl Club again until she decided that assisting him—cheating, he usually called it— was 'wrong', and that he wouldn't tolerate it happening again. She'd already broken this promise once, and 'suffered' Phoenix's displeasure, but he could never seem to stay mad at anyone for very long, and—in the long run—she'd gotten off scot-free. There had been a standing agreement, however, that she was to stay with her Uncle Miles during her Daddy's shift at the restaurant, until she learned her lesson for _real_. Well, unless he was in court, in which case she got to spend the day with Uncle Larry, which was always interesting.

This was not one of those days.

The young magician hummed, bored, from her seat on the couch in her 'uncle's' office. She'd already explored the place from top to bottom, and had even escaped one day, and ended up in _miss_ Franziska's—despite the protests against it, she still called the pale haired woman 'auntie'— office. The female prosecutor had raised an eyebrow in question, but not said anything about her unexpected visitor… though both Miles and her father had gotten an earful, later that day.

Currently, Trucy was ignoring the stack of comic books that sat beside her. She'd listened to Maya—_not_ 'Aunt Maya', because the spirit medium hardly acted her age, and claimed that the title made her feel like she was supposed to be responsible ("Good thing you're not the _Master of Kurain_ or anything." Phoenix had chimed in sarcastically, rolling his eyes, after she'd made that overdramatic announcement)—rant and rave about this franchise… but she'd been under the impression that it was a cartoon series. When she'd flipped through the top issue curiously, earlier that day, Trucy had realized that _The Steel Samurai _was, indeed, a TV show, and that this was simply a spin off, chronicling the further exploits of 'The Hero of Neo Olde Tokyo'.

To put it simply, she had absolutely no interest in it.

For several hours, she'd entertained herself by re-counting various types of objects in the room, drawing imaginary pictures as she stared up at the ceiling, and walking back and forth, every so often, giggling as her 'uncle's' eyes followed the movement, before he turned back to his paperwork. Now, however, she was growing rather desperate.

Hesitantly, as though she'd been under the impression that the comics were aware of her opinion of them, and were about to bite her for it, she picked the top issue up again and flipped it open to the last page she'd surveyed.

Nope. It was as weird as she remembered.

Only barely paying attention to what she was reading, Trucy went through the next few issues almost on autopilot. It wasn't until she'd zoned out enough to misread something in the book that she finally found a way to occupy herself.

"Wait…" She'd said aloud, earning a glance from the prosecutor at the desk, before he'd realized that it wasn't directed at him, "did that say…?"

Somehow, the magician had read one of the character's lines so _terrifically_ wrong that it had become a favorite standby, in reference to her Uncle Larry. In fact, she'd been so _sure_ that's what she'd read, that she'd even read it in the voice—slightly exasperated, but with a resigned air—that her father reserved solely for the 'artist'. This had brought a new idea to mind, and Trucy had immediately gone back to the first issue she'd been provided with, and tasked herself with assigning each and every character their own voice. If nothing else, it had made Miles laugh when she'd told him—it was always nice when that happened. After all, she'd never seen anybody but her Daddy get him to laugh, and the little magician was convinced that it needed to happen more often. So, when he'd inquired further, asking which characters went with which people, Trucy had been happy to answer any and all queries.

* * *

"Trucy takes after you," Miles informed Phoenix, when the 'pianist' came to pick the girl up.

There had been a brief pause as the dark haired man had contemplated this rather odd tidbit of information, and decided how to respond. "Okay, I'll bite. _What_ are you talking about?"

"She has absolutely no interest in the _Steel Samurai_ franchise, beyond making fun of it." The prosecutor said evenly. Though his expression remained largely neutral, the slight upturn of his lips gave away the fact that he had some other motivation for bringing it up.

Knowing he'd regret asking, Phoenix went ahead, anyway, "…what did she say?"

"She assigned a voice to each of the characters." Edgeworth explained, though—for him, in public—his tone was positively _gleeful_. "The voice of a person in her everyday life."

"Yep!" Trucy exclaimed eagerly, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "I think Uncle Miles would make a good Steel Samurai!"

That had to explain the sort-of grin, right? But no, it was really more of a smirk... there was more to this that he wasn't saying…

"Uncle Miles, can I go look at the Charley in the lobby?" The little magician asked, ignoring the fact that her father was right there, and that he was probably the correct person to ask. She, like everyone, save for Gumshoe, simply couldn't remember the plant species' real name. Upon receiving a nod, she raced off, grinning.

"And what you _really_ wanted me to know is…?"

"She and I both thought you would be a _marvelous_ Pink Princess." Miles answered, obviously enjoying the sputtering and protesting that this inspired, before something else seemed to occur to Phoenix.

"Uh… Mi—Edgeworth…" He started, suddenly sounding rather hesitant, "Aren't the Steel Samurai and Pink Princess…"

The prosecutor's smirk dulled into a slight smile—not much, but more than he would usually display in any public place, "Yes, Wright, they are. That's precisely why Trucy doesn't have a role of her own, yet." At the curious look that this inspired, he went on, "The Iron Infant has yet to be introduced in this series."

* * *

...or "His mama's son"?


	4. Not a Clue

I'm going to be honest: I found prompt loosely related to _Clue_ on the kink-meme, and it rapidly mutated into this. It was just so goofy and fluffy (and far away from the original request) that I couldn't help myself.

For some reason, the nonsensical bantering makes me smile. I'm still not sure why that is.

* * *

They didn't play _Clue_ by the official rules, in the Wright household.

The fact that Trucy hadn't even been aware of how the 'real' rules went, until Maya suggested that they play, one day, was certainly a testament to that fact.

There were still the three staples, of course: the murderer, the weapon, and the crime scene… but _really_, who would buy that nobody knew where the murder took place? ("Global Studios, Wright. Ringing any bells?") Well, there _were_ a few cases where it was sketchy, but still—_usually_, people knew where a body had been found. With that fact having been established, of _course_ the crime scene was made 'public' knowledge. It would need to be inspected thoroughly for clues, after all.

That wasn't the end to the—_ahem_—tweaking, though.

So there's a murder weapon. Great. How did they know that it was the right one? Was there an autopsy report? Any fingerprints? Decisive evidence? More often than not, this culminated in a myriad of last minute additions: _Monopoly_ markers, old _Steel Samurai _memorabilia (whether the toys belonged to Miles or Maya was anybody's guess), and, on one memorable occasion, a thumbtack cleverly disguised as a parrot who 'just happened' to know vital information. Trucy still wasn't sure what the story behind that last one was, but her Daddy had laughed when he'd placed the Styrofoam peanut it was stuck in into the corner of the crime scene, and Miles had rolled his eyes, muttering vaguely about how that was just like Phoenix.

That, of course, left the most important detail: the murderer. For awhile, the normal 'one accusation per game' rule had stood, but that arrangement usually found a certain pianist distracting the two who were still playing, and narrating the rest of the game—with various levels of plausibility—loudly, since he was always found 'in contempt' fairly early on. Something about it being a force of habit, he claimed. After the fifth game had deteriorated into another match of magician vs. prosecutor, they all agreed it was time for a change; the current rule looked like this: accuse whoever you like, use as much baseless conjecture as possible… but if someone has evidence to the contrary, expect a penalty. (A 'penalty' being defined as 'something of no significance whatsoever, but fun to deliver in increasingly absurd ways')

It didn't make much sense to a lot of people, and usually culminated in several headaches, but there was no denying that it was enjoyable. Trucy had always thought it was funny to watch her Daddy and Uncle Miles furiously debate who the real 'killer' was, since they usually got so into the game.

"…and it had to be Professor Plum, because Miss Scarlet was in the ballroom with Colonel Mustard, damnit!_._"

"You _do_ have proof to back that claim up, rig—_correct_?"

"Ha! Can't dispute that one, can you? Since you already proved that Peacock was in the kitchen at the time of death, and Trucy told us that Mr. Green was the victim—"

"Ah, but there's no evidence that ties Plum to the crime, now is there? Do you have any 'forensic' proof? Fingerprints, perhaps?"

"You— I— argh! You _know_ fingerprints don't exist this time!"

"Oh, and I suppose _blood_ doesn't, either?"

"Don't be stupid, of _course _it does! It's just, uh… y'know, nobody knows how to identify who it belongs to…"

"So what you're indirectly saying is that nobody has any idea what's going on here… least of all you?"

"Uh, yeah... pretty much."

"Business as usual, then," Miles rolled his eyes, and Trucy giggled, despite the fact that she'd faded into the background of this 'case' quite some time ago.

It was also telling that, once they'd been introduced to the new version, neither Maya or Pearls gave the official rules another thought.


End file.
